


Driving home for Christmas

by deagle, redDwarf (do_androids_dream)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Holidays, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Modern AU, Modern Era, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Original Song, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27934618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deagle/pseuds/deagle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/pseuds/redDwarf
Summary: Christmas is just around the corner. It's the first Christmas for Geralt and Jaskier, but will they spend it together - or will Geralt's inability to express himself and Jaskier's exuberant cheerfulness stand in their way?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 119





	Driving home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Fic by me, song by [@deagle.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deagle) Happy Holidays, people!

"So," Jaskier began, while he, almost carefully, placed his cup on the kitchen table.  
  
Geralt's skeptical look did not escape him. However, he was not concerned with the fact that Jaskier was unusually hesitant, but that he had had an espresso so late in the evening. He was nervous enough before every performance.  
  
"So, what are your plans for the holidays?"  
  
Oh. So that's what this was about. Geralt had expected this conversation, even if he had hoped to postpone it as long as possible.  
  
"Hm. I think already told you that I always visit my family for Christmas."  
  
Geralt had the feeling that this almost sounded reproachful. That had not been his intention, but Jaskier had those deer eyes again. Those big, blue eyes that sometimes seemed to have the power to look right into his soul. Or to make him do things he didn't really want to do. Like walks in the rain, holding hands. Watching cheesy movies on the sofa, stroking a head in his lap. Dancing. Falling in love with this man.  
  
"You said that, yes," Jaskier agreed with him. "These people are not even your biological family, and yet you spend the holidays with them."  
  
That was a simple statement, but Geralt felt that there was a question behind it.  
  
"I think I owe them that," he replied with a slightly wrinkled forehead.  
  
Maybe that was true, maybe not. The matter was complicated in a certain way. The way he had grown up was not the most beautiful of all stories, and he was still wondering how Jaskier had managed to squeeze at least a part of it out of him at some point.  
Deer eyes.  
  
"I know that," replied the man with those deer eyes.  
  
He stood there, leaning seemingly casually against the kitchen counter, but his body language had something tense about it.  
  
"And I think it's wonderful, really," he added, while Geralt, in a strange restlessness, took the cup off the table and put it in the sink. He let the water run over it, way too much and way too long and started stirring it with his finger instead of actually rinsing it.  
  
"I was just wondering..."  
  
At that moment, an alarm went off, a shrill sound from his mobile phone pocketed in his pants, set much too loud not to miss his performance.  
  
Saved by the bell, Geralt thought, but not without a slight feeling of guilt. This conversation would not be delayed forever. And he just didn't know what to say to him. That he did not want to spend the holidays with him? That was not true. That Christmas just didn't mean that much to him? That came pretty close to the truth, but it wasn't the reason either. He feared that he would not be able to say the real reason and that Jaskier - rightly so - would not understand it.  
  
There he stood, visibly nervous now, and his slender fingers began to play an inaudible melody in the air. It was as adorable as it was weird and somehow annoying.  
  
"You're coming, aren't you?" Jaskier asked now. Deer eyes, again. Eyes you would not dare to disappoint. You would not want to.  
  
"Of course," Geralt heard himself say, although no words were actually needed. But he got a kiss for it, soft and light and without a hint of the excitement that was currently surrounding Jaskier, and it was worth it.  


* * *

  
To accompany him to his performance had already become a kind of ritual between them. This was not least because it was precisely this bar where they had met - a bar into which Geralt had been driven by pure coincidence. Jaskier had, of course, called it destiny to meet a man there on his very first evening as a piano player with whom he would fall undyingly in love - his words.  
  
He was a sight that attracted the glances of all, mostly women: this almost youthful freshness in his face, much too attractive for a man, eyes much too blue, a smile much too engaging. And although he returned their glances, although he flirted with them - because, strangely enough, as soon as he sat at that piano, all agitation was forgotten - he had only had eyes for one person on that particular evening.  
  
Geralt was used to the looks he got wherever he went. He was not old enough for this ash gray hair, although some people turn gray earlier than others. Someone once said to him that today's fashions and hair colors offered so much freedom that there was no way to actually attract attention to them. It was obviously not true, the stares proved that wherever he went.  
  
But it was not only that. Later, Jaskier had called it a kind of aura that Geralt was allegedly surrounded with. "Something extremely repellent," he had called it. "That attitude of 'don't look at me or you're dead', or something like that."  
  
Geralt had often wondered why someone like Jaskier would stare at this overly dismissive attitude longer than usual. Why, of all people, he had thrown the most glances at him that evening - and vice versa. Because Geralt, too, had not been able to look away. When he had realized that music was being played in this bar, he had actually wanted to leave immediately. Until the man at the piano started playing. And singing. Geralt would never claim that he had fallen in love with the music. Or the hands that lay so securely on the keys. But there had been something magical about all this that evening. And it was still there.  
  
Jaskier had said that this was his first real engagement, and of course, it was kind of ridiculous and silly, and he did it just for the money, yada yada. Actually, he wanted something completely different. He wanted to make it big. But after all these months, he was still here, still in this bar, still at this piano. Maybe one day he would make it big, maybe not. At some point, he had said that he hoped that Geralt would be with him when the time came.  
  
They had only been together for a few weeks then. Still, these few weeks had already been enough to find out that Jaskier had no problem to break his self-chosen shell of rejection, suppressed anger, guilt and various other feelings. It was enough to find out that he was amazingly soft when it came to Jaskier. So he had said, yes, he would, of course, he would, and that had not been lip service from someone who had just had fantastic sex.  
But they were still here, in this bar, and before his performances - it was almost silly to even call it that - Jaskier was still as nervous as the first time.  
And he still played fantastically, played the piano and sang. When he sang, he made strings in Geralt resound he didn't know he had.  
So why was he nervous at all? Geralt had asked him that, and Jaskier had answered because he was playing for him only and just wanted him to like it. That was nonsense, of course (and surprisingly flattering), but that was Jaskier.  
  
As always, he played as if it was the first time - and it was still the first time for somebody in the room. And Geralt was sitting at the bar, holding on to some drink and just looking at the piano man, nowhere else. When they left, he was the only one to take the piano man home. And it was another night where the subject of Christmas was not discussed.  


* * *

  
But the closer the holidays came, the more difficult it became to avoid the whole topic. And it was not that Geralt hated Christmas. It was just not his favorite holiday. He never explained it, but it was kind of obvious. He changed the subject when Jaskier talked about Christmas presents. If he didn't stop, Geralt said he didn't want anything in a voice that made it clear he'd better not asked again. And as much as he liked it when Jaskier sang, he did not like it when he started humming Christmas carols or singing a verse of them.  
  
This month, he was more silent than usual, more pensive somehow. There were things about Jaskier that always made him smile, almost against his will. But now he smiled little, and he nearly seemed to get angry when Jaskier one day drew his attention to a mistletoe that a shopkeeper had placed over his door. And he hated the expression in his eyes, the certainty that Jaskier could not understand why he was behaving this way, and he couldn't explain it or didn't want to.  
  
Jaskier kept trying, at least for a while. But it seemed the whole atmosphere made him somewhat reluctant. He would've wanted to ask again, maybe more directly, what he really wanted to know: if Geralt wished to spend their first Christmas together or not. Because it didn't just seem to be a matter of Christmas itself. Geralt might not like these holidays in particular. But maybe he just didn't want to spend them with him? For some reason, Jaskier did not dare to speak this question out loud. Of the two of them - and he had often thought that they were basically an odd couple, but who wasn't - he was the talkative one, that much was clear.  
  
But here was possibly an answer lurking that he feared, so he preferred not to hear it at all. In this respect, he did not understand himself — his desire to bring things up occasionally collided with Geralt's hands-on way of tackling problems. While Jaskier overthought, Geralt sometimes thought too little. Now it appeared to be the other way around. Geralt seemed brooding, and Jaskier decided to simply ignore all this. He did not mention Christmas anymore.  
  
It was not easy. A few days before the holidays, it started snowing. The whole city was covered with a sugary layer of white. Geralt lived just outside, where the effect was even more magical - at least for Jaskier, who often stayed overnight with him in a kind of silent agreement (or another one to which Geralt had never officially said no).  
  
When he awoke that morning, the utterly different light which shone through the curtains already told him that something had changed overnight. The child in him knew exactly what that meant, so he jumped out of bed, ripped open the curtains, and could barely contain himself from squealing with joy.  
  
At that time, Geralt was practically just a pile of hair under a tangled blanket, and he was humming something. Jaskier took this as a question.  
  
"It has snowed!" he shouted. He was close to clapping his hands with joy.  
  
Geralt, who in the meantime had somehow peeled himself out of the blanket and rubbed his eyes, seemed to freeze. He sat up, a severe expression on his face.  
  
"What's wrong?" Jaskier asked. "Don't tell me you don't like snow. Everyone likes snow. Well, except maybe for the people who have to dig their driveways before they can drive to work, but…"  
  
"I'll have to go home soon," Geralt interrupted him.  
  
It was strange that he called that place "home". This place where he would spend Christmas. It wasn't his home; his home was here by now. It was where Jaskier was, even if he could not find a way to express it.  
  
But the ties that bound him to his old homestead were strong. They consisted of strange ideas of friendship, fraternity, respect, and solidarity. Still, if he would have to explain it, if he had wanted to tell Jaskier that, he would have reopened old wounds, and he didn't want to do that. Geralt had a few scars, on his body as well as in his soul, and Jaskier knew some of them, but not all. And he did not know if he would ever be able to show them all to him.  
  
Jaskier felt a sting in his stomach, a kind of cramp, a knot that had been there for a while and suddenly tightened. He sat on the bed, very close and yet a bit away. Should he stretch out his hand? Geralt's hands, big and warm and reliable, lay there, a finger's breadth from his, but he felt that his own were cold now, as if he had opened the window and let the snow in.  
  
"When?" he asked quietly, trying not to make his voice sound too disappointed. Too sad.  
  
"As soon as possible," Geralt replied without looking at him.  
  
He looked out of the window where, now that the curtains were open, one could see the nearby forest trees, all white, the branches heavy with snow.  
  
"If it has snowed, it can be difficult to get to the north. Flights are often canceled."  
  
"You sound like you are going to the North Pole," Jaskier said, but his smile reached neither his own eyes nor did it reach Geralt.  
  
"When I arrive, I have to drive for a few more hours. If it gets completely snowed in, there's no getting through."  
  
Now Geralt looked at him, and he regretted it, because the smile was gone, and he realized that he needed it.  
  
"So, as soon as possible?" Jaskier asked.  
  
Geralt nodded.  
"I will try to get a ticket today."  
  
A ticket, Jaskier thought. Which means **one** ticket, which is an answer, even if the question was never asked.  
  
"Will you... I have another gig tonight..."  
  
And he thought that if Geralt said no, he would jump up and leave immediately. That he would go without coming back, which was silly and childish, the thought as well as the act itself. He did not even know if he was capable of it. If he even could leave. At least he knew that he didn't want to, certainly not.  
  
"I'll be there," Geralt said curtly.  
  
And Jaskier decided that this was enough. For now.  


* * *

  
It felt like a farewell performance that evening. Only that normally, the artist said goodbye to the stage and the audience. But tonight, it would be different.  
Geralt noticed that Jaskier didn't seem a bit nervous that evening. It was just as well for him because this was not one of those days when he felt able to take away the man's stage fright - neither by simply holding his hands nor stroking his back wordlessly nor with a kiss. Especially not with a kiss.  
  
But he was also quieter than normal, and that was indeed unusual. However, Geralt could not distinguish whether this meant that Jaskier was angry or sad, or thoughtful. He had the feeling that he knew nothing at all, neither about him nor about himself. He wondered if he wanted Jaskier to feel any of it. And he hated the fact that this time of year, these holidays, depressed him so much. Even though this year of all years - for the first time in a long time - he... was happy.  
  
It took him a while to admit this to himself, partly because he felt he did not deserve it. It had been okay that he was lonely - at least it had been okay for a long time. Then came Jaskier, and loneliness was no longer an option. Good heavens, the guy was already as good as moved in with him - not officially, of course, because Geralt wouldn't admit that he wanted that, not for the time being.  
  
He could not even have said how it all began. How they had found each other after that night in the bar, staring at each other for hours. Those distinctive, knowing looks of people who hide their inclinations for as long as it pays off for them.  
  
A single night had changed everything. Even him and it was time to admit it. The only question was whether he hadn't already screwed that up. Jaskier hadn't asked, not once, if he could come up north to his reunion. The man usually talked nineteen to the dozen, and he had tried a thousand times to find out something about the people Geralt had spent his youth with.  
  
He had never answered; he just did not know how to. His past was not easy to explain. But despite everything, growing up under adverse circumstances was one thing; not being able to put it behind him was completely different. And Geralt knew that he had reason to look ahead. Even if he had to face the journey and thus, the past.  
  
Geralt had promised Jaskier to accompany him that evening, and it felt like the last evening. It felt wrong. Jaskier was calm and composed, which was not his style. He radiated something that made Geralt strangely nervous. He seemed to swap roles.  
  
Jaskier sat down at the piano, his fingers remaining still. He did not place them hesitantly on the keys, did not strike them slowly, nor gently. The melody he played came out of him with complete certainty, as if it was just flowing out of him. Geralt sat at the bar and watched him closely. He didn't know the song; Jaskier had never played it before. The melody was a little slow, carried, almost a little sad.  
  
Then he started singing, and Geralt felt as if he was singing right into his heart, although Jaskier didn't even look at him at first. He looked at the keys of the piano that was standing on the small, half-darkened stage of the bar, which was suddenly very quiet, the sound of which ended abruptly as soon as he started.

 _"The scars that mar your heart  
And stains upon your soul  
Tell me so much more  
than your lips ever will"_  
  
Apart from the piano and Jaskier's singing, nothing was to be heard now, or Geralt simply blanked out everything: there was no more glass clattering, no one was talking or clearing their throats. But it was indeed silent; it was not an illusion. Some of the guests already knew Jaskier; some regulars showed up, particularly in the evenings when he performed.  
  
Usually, his songs were cheerful. He also knew some funny drinking songs that the patrons (and therefore the bar owner) liked especially. He hardly played any deep, sad songs because nobody wants to sit in a bar and have his own grief amplified by such a melody. Love songs were also tricky, although there were so damn many of them, and it was difficult to avoid them altogether. This one, however, was clearly a love song. The first verse already made that clear.  
  
Jaskier's voice was clear; he had a voice that could captivate others. The second verse proved that.  
  
_"You keep to yourself  
A lock the world can‘t pick  
You over focus  
And make yourself sick“_  
The words were like a simple statement; he sang them almost matter-of-factly, accompanied by an initially relatively unadorned melody. Then, suddenly, he struck the keys a little faster, turning upbeat, and now he raised his head and looked at Geralt.  
  
_"Legends say  
I‘ll find the key  
Solve the puzzle  
Set you free  
  
Yes Legends say  
I‘ll find the key  
Solve the puzzle  
Set you free" _  
  
Time seemed to stand still. Geralt almost believed that every single person in the bar was staring at him, that Jaskier's gaze was so focused that everyone must have noticed that he was looking at him. Maybe that was the case. Perhaps it didn't matter. The song was definitely for him. A message.  
  
_"Then  
You‘ll open your mind  
Yourself you smite  
Open your mouth  
Only to bite  
  
And tell me it‘s made up  
the story book’s my brain  
But I‘ll keep searching for your truth  
If only but a grain"_  
  
The melody, previously almost soft, now rose, swelled and, together with the words, became somewhat hopeful. The message became more apparent, but then the piano sounded a bit sadder again, and the voice, too, changed from high a bit lower.  
  
_"You say love don‘t come easy  
For somebody like you  
When all you ever needed  
Was someone kind and new  
  
I‘ll catch you staring into waters  
Say, do you seek the depth?  
I‘ll catch you caught up in the mirror  
Angry with yourself“_  
  
If Geralt still had the slightest trace of doubt, it had now vanished. The song was clearly about him. Was that really how Jaskier saw him? Did he make him sad? But the music was not only sad.  
  
_"Legends say  
True love will mend  
Kiss the frog  
A happy end  
  
Yes Legends say  
True love will mend  
Kiss the frog  
A happy end  
  
Then  
You open your arms  
Only to bash  
Crack open your shell  
Only to crash  
  
And tell me it‘s made up  
the story book’s my brain  
But I‘ll keep searching for your truth  
If only but a grain  
  
Let it be known  
That legends never fail  
And there‘s a grain of truth  
in every fairytale  
  
Heavens what a blessing  
what a sight and what a mind  
Heavens know i don‘t deserve  
The starlight of your kind  
  
Legend says you got it in you  
And I say legend‘s right  
Come scooch into my lap  
And let me kiss you goodnight“_  
  
In the end, it almost became silly, or cheesy, or a mixture of these; Geralt could hardly concentrate on the text. There was only one thought left in him: Jaskier had written this song for him. He stared at him, and Jaskier looked back, very calm, not a trace uncertain, not wondering for a moment whether he had liked the song. Whether he had understood the message.  
  
But his gaze changed very quickly to incredulous incomprehension - because now Geralt stood up, and although he still looked at him, gave him a long look, he left the bar.  
  


* * *

Geralt stood in front of the door as if numbed, with the urgent need to smoke - although he had stopped smoking many years ago and had vowed never to start again. The night was starry, even the neon signs of the bar did not disturb the view of the stars, but they did not calm him down like they usually did.  
  
It was snowing again. The flakes soaked his hair, sat down on his clothes, and melted into tiny drops that ran down his body. He hardly noticed; he blinked towards the stars and wondered what he was doing here. Gathering courage, perhaps, although he had never been a coward.  
  
The door opened behind him, and he took a step to the side when he realized that he was practically in the way.  
  
"Geralt."  
  
The word sounded at the same time as the hand that lay on his shoulder. But not softly, as usual, as it was Jaskier's way. He was soft and gentle, and that was wonderful. But now, his grip was firm, and he forced Geralt to turn around.  
  
"You'll get all wet," he said and pulled him under the narrow canopy.  
  
"Your performance is not over yet," Geralt replied.  
  
Jaskier laughed. At least that was as usual: a warm, friendly, authentic laugh.  
  
"I've only just started, so I have to go back in right away. I just wanted to tell you that... well, I know you're not a fan of Christmas and all that. But this is my Christmas present to you. This song. It was for you. I sang it for you."  
  
"Jaskier. Are you breaking up with me?" Geralt could not believe how strange his own voice sounded when he asked that.  
  
The other man looked at him, confused and somehow incredulous. It suited him; it gave this pretty, youthful face some kind of depth. It was beautiful to look at him as he stood there, the slightly reddish shadow of the neon light on his face. On his eyelashes hung single drops of water from the short moment he had been exposed to the snow.  
  
"What? How do you figure that? Did you understand the song like this? Good god, Geralt, I thought you wanted to break up with me!"  
  
Geralt's expression was so hilarious that Jaskier laughed again, this time clearly relieved. Whatever happened - and Geralt didn't have to say it - it was not this: no separation, no stupid argument due to a misunderstanding, no bitter end. No end at all.  
  
"Listen," he continued, speaking faster now because he really needed to go back inside, "I just wanted you to have something to think about when you were away. So that you know that there is something to come back to. Someone."  
  
"That's not so easy, Jaskier," Geralt replied quietly.  
  
Jaskier shook his head, looked at him thoughtfully.  
"Coming back is easy, Geralt. Leaving is more difficult than it looks. What's not easy is you. And you know what, that's okay."  
  
"I mean your song," Geralt interrupted him. His expression was serious, but he usually was, so maybe it didn't mean much. But it did, because now he said, "Opening up, it's not that easy. But I realized that it is important. That you deserve it."  
  
The snowdrift had increased. Around them, outside the small, protected space, the small roof above them, the flakes had become thicker. Moon and neon light shone on them, gave them color. In the bar, the people would slowly become impatient, thought Jaskier. The weather was getting worse, Geralt thought. Both felt that time was running out. To say what needed to be said.  
  
"He died on Christmas day, you know," Geralt said, and Jaskier looked at him in surprise, too surprised to ask who he was talking about. Maybe that was a good thing because without this interruption Geralt just kept on talking. While he was looking at Jaskier, his gaze seemed to go into the distance.  
  
"The other boys and I, we weren't orphans. We lived in this children's home, strange outsiders among all the kids there, although we all had one thing in common - we had all been abandoned at some point. For whatever reason, we were different, so the three of us held together. And there was this one caregiver, the only one who really cared about the children, although he was strict and demanded a lot from us. He was older; to us, he was very old, and after a few years, he was old enough to retire. The children around us had been adopted or placed in foster homes over time. But we had not. He took us with him when he left. He gave us a new home. No, he gave us the only home we had had for a long time. I think we gave him a hard time; we were almost teenagers by then. He still took it upon himself to lead us through the most difficult years."  
  
It was the longest speech Jaskier had ever heard from Geralt. He could only stare at him, and his heart was beating so fast that he had the feeling it wanted to burst from his chest. He couldn't and wouldn't say anything, didn't want to destroy the moment. It was a damned sad story, that much was sure, and he knew that he had only heard the tip of the iceberg. But it was a little, a tiny glimpse that Geralt gave him, a treasure he wanted to hold on to.  
  
"He died on a Christmas morning, sneaking out of life like a cat retreating to a quiet place - only he just didn't get up from his bed. We were hardly grown-ups, not yet ready for the world; we still needed him. It was as if we had already been abandoned again, and we were angry. He would not have liked what we had become."  
  
"You didn't turn out bad, Geralt," Jaskier threw in after all. He received a little, almost melancholy smile in return.  
  
"That needs to be proved," Geralt replied. "In any case, the relationship with my... well, they're like brothers, so let's call them that. The relationship with my brothers is difficult. We meet every Christmas, even though none of us really want to, out of some old feeling, attachment, or guilt, I don't know. But we never miss one, no matter what."  
  
"I don't want you to miss it either," Jaskier said. "Thanks for telling me that. I know now that you have to go and why you have to go. And it starts to snow heavy, you should go soon."  
  
He fleetingly gestured at the snow, which still fell from the sky in thick flakes.  
  
"After your performance," Geralt said. "But no encores, promise me that."  
  
Jaskier laughed.  
  
"Listen, you don't have to stay. It's all good. We'll have New Year's Eve."  
That sounded like a question, and not without reason. It would be their anniversary.  
  
"We have Christmas, too. If you hurry. If you go in and play now, maybe one or two songs less than usual because it is really late," Geralt said with a quick glance at his wristwatch.  
  
"What exactly do you mean?" Jaskier asked.  
  
Geralt reached into his back pocket, his facial expression somehow sheepish.  
He pulled out an envelope, which he had carelessly bent, and held it out to Jaskier.  
  
"Your Christmas present."  
  
"My what?"  
  
Jaskier took the envelope and opened it. Then he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, stared at the paper in his hand, and said nothing. This one time, he was speechless.  
  
"I wanted to ask you to come," Geralt said, "I know we haven't been together that long, and I've never done this before. But I thought that maybe you don't want to. Because this won't be the Christmas, you're probably used to. There will be no glitter, no presents, and most of all, little joy. We'll get drunk, we'll rehash old stories, things like that."  
  
"That sounds wonderful," Jaskier replied in an almost shaky voice, and indeed he meant it. Because it didn't matter where they went or what they did there.  
Because they would be together.  
  
"You're coming?"  
  
Jaskier stared at the paper again. It was plane tickets. Two plane tickets, and the flight left in...  
  
"Damn it, I have to finish my act! Or cancel it! Or whatever, Geralt, four hours? I didn't pack anything and..."  
  
"I've already done this for you."  
  
Jaskier just stared at Geralt, this big, strange guy, with his peculiar hair and this leave-me-be attitude. Broody and grumpy, so no one would see that underneath was this soft, vulnerable - and wounded - heart.  
  
"I'm coming," he simply said, and then he wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck, pulled him to him, and kissed him.


End file.
